


I Want a Pony

by wheel_pen



Series: Venkii [6]
Category: Star Trek: Enterprise
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-20
Updated: 2013-04-20
Packaged: 2017-12-09 01:04:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,878
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/768176
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wheel_pen/pseuds/wheel_pen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jon and Trip discover it’s a bad idea to get drunk with a Venkii woman.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Want a Pony

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. The Venkii are humans who left Earth long ago, and have a few extra enhancements by now. Mila is a young Venkii woman who has joined the crew of the Enterprise, in Engineering. She can communicate with the ship in a special way.
> 
> 2\. The bad words are censored. That’s just how I do things.
> 
> I hope you enjoy this AU. I own nothing and appreciate the chance to play in this universe.

Mila abruptly became silent. "Why was I laughing?" she asked in confusion.

Archer snickered from the other end of the table. "Trip's story!" he reminded her. "Trip was telling a d—n funny story!" Trip looked pleased with himself, until Archer added thoughtfully, "Although I can't remember what it was about, either."

"G-d, will you two _try_ to pay a _little_ more attention?" Trip requested, attempting to sound responsible. Of course, it was rather difficult to sound responsible when you'd ingested two‑thirds of a bottle of wine over the course of one meal. "It was a really good story," he protested.

"Well, tell it again," Mila suggested soothingly.

"Tell it again," Archer seconded, leaning forward eagerly with his chin on his hand.

"I'll tell it again," Trip agreed. He took a breath, then—nothing. "I can't remember what it was about." The table erupted in laughter all around.

After the camping trip that Archer had written off as yet another reason to never give anyone shore leave, he was still trying to help Mila socialize better with the male officers of the crew. Remembering what had worked—somewhat—with T'Pol during her first years aboard the _Enterprise_ , the Captain had invited the young woman to dinner with him and Trip in Archer's private dining room. And just to make things go a little more smoothly, he'd ordered the steward to uncork a nice bottle of wine he'd picked up on Risa. And just to _keep_ things going a little more smoothly, he'd ordered a _second_ bottle opened a bit later. So far, he felt the plan was going marvelously.

"See," prodded Trip to Mila, "here's something you wouldn't get to do on your old ship." She blinked at him. "Have dinner with the Captain and the Chief Engineer!" he clarified.

"Yeah, I would," she countered with annoyance, swirling her nearly empty glass of wine. "'Cause the Captain is my _father_ and the Chief Engine is my _mother_." She snorted derisively.

Trip rolled his eyes as best he could while Archer laughed mockingly. "How could you forget that?" he needled. "Her _mom_ is the Chief Engine!"

"What does that even mean?" Trip demanded, hoping to deflect attention from his mistake. "Why is she the _Engine_ and not the _Engineer_?"

"Because on Venkii ships, the women power everything," Archer explained knowingly. "Isn't that right?"

"Absolutely," Mila confirmed. "The women make everything... go!" She illustrated this with a swooping arm gesture that the others copied studiously. "The men do all the—bad jobs."

"Bad jobs?" Trip sputtered. "Like what?"

Mila drained the rest of her glass and set it unsteadily on the tabletop. "Like talking to aliens and going to alien ships and going to alien planets and stuff like that," she declared.

Archer and Trip stared at her, then at each other. "That's the fun stuff!" Archer protested.

"Yeah!" Trip agreed enthusiastically. "That's the—thing people—come into space for."

Mila wrinkled her nose. "No, it's—ugh, it's—gross."

"Talking to aliens is _gross_?" Trip and Archer stumbled over the line at the same time.

"Yeah," she decided firmly. "Or something. It's—low. Menial. The men do the labor, security, manual labor cleaning type stuff," she tried to explain to her scoffing audience. "The women have to have intell-intelli-intellec—mental challenges."

"So all the women on the Venkii ships are... mentally challenged?" guessed Trip, not catching his phrasing. Archer however did and laughed outright, much to the others' confusion.

"No, it's serious, it's serious," Mila insisted. "We make everything _run_. We make things _change_." Seeing that Trip and Archer were not following, she continued, "Okay, you know that door? Right there?" She pointed a wobbling finger towards the door from the Mess Hall to their room.

"I know that door," Archer confirmed.

"I walked _through_ that door," Trip agreed.

"Well, what if I didn't want a door there, huh?" Mila asked. "If I didn't want a door there, I could just move it."

Her statement was met with snorts of derision. "Move the door? You can't move a door. It's a _door_."

"No, no, I can do it," she told them. "See, okay, watch this." They all turned to regard the door quite seriously. For a moment nothing happened, then the faint ridges marking the separation between the two door panels and the places at which they retracted into the wall melted away, leaving nothing but solid wall plating. Archer and Trip's eyes went wide.

"Hang on, hang on, hang on," Trip said loudly, over Archer's noises of amazement. "Let me check this out first." Stumbling a little from his chair, Trip approached the former door, now wall, and tried to regard it critically. He swayed a little and thumped into it. "Feels like a wall," he admitted, pushing back. He felt out to the side with his hand, didn't connect with what he was searching for, and finally looked. "Even the box thing that opens the door is gone!"

Mila's expression was fuzzy but smug. "See? No more door. _That's_ what I can do."

Archer finally lurched from his seat to examine this phenomenon himself. He meant to gently probe the wall plating but ended up smacking it several times with his palm. "No door," he commented dubiously to Trip.

"No door," the other man was forced to agree.

"Well, you're my Chief Engineer!" Archer snapped with some annoyance. "Where's my door gone?"

"Well, I don't know!" Trip shot back. He pointed accusingly at Mila. " _She_ took it!"

"That's right," she confirmed. "And I can put it back wherever I want. See?"

Solid wall plating reformed into an unblemished door on the wall behind her chair. "Trip," Archer ordered firmly, "go check that out."

"Aye, sir." Staggering only slightly Trip headed for the new door, pushing the button on the wall to open it. Fully functional, it slid open easily to reveal a mercifully empty Mess Hall, viewed from a new angle. He stepped back and closed the door again, then made his way silently back to where Archer stood at the other end of the table. "It works!" Trip reported to him once he'd arrived.

Archer took his arm and looked at him suspiciously. "How do we know," he began, in what he thought was a tone too low for Mila to catch, "that it wasn't there all the time?"

"Well, it wasn't," Trip pointed out. "It was over _here_." He pointed to the wall where the door had once been. "I came through it, remember?"

"Are you sure?" Archer questioned, eyes narrowed.

"Cap'n!" Trip looked affronted. "I'm an eng-engin—I'm a professional. I never forget a door."

Archer seemed satisfied with this and turned back to Mila. "That's very impressive," he allowed. "That could be very useful someday."

"Yeah, we might wanna remodel!" Trip suggested, snickering unduly.

"I can put the door _anywhere_ ," Mila assured them. "I could put it in the ceiling, or the floor..." The deck plating where Trip stood vibrated a little bit and he jumped back beside Archer in alarm. A moment later a full-scale doorway had replaced the flooring. Everyone craned their necks trying to see it at the proper angle.

"Trip," Archer began commandingly, "ch—"

"Check it out, yes, sir, I know," Trip sighed. He dropped to the floor gracelessly and pushed the button beside the door. It opened silently and he leaned forward into the hole it revealed, Archer grabbing the back of his jumpsuit at the last moment to prevent him from falling completely through. "It's the conference room!" Trip reported excitedly. "It's right below us!"

Mila stood uncertainly and wobbled over to look as well. "And you doubted me," she scoffed.

"Well done," Archer complimented her, starting to applaud. Unfortunately he had forgotten he was holding onto Trip and the Chief Engineer overbalanced and tumbled through the open doorway. "Trip!" Archer shouted with concern, nearly following him in his haste. "Trip, are you okay?"

Gasping laughter was his response. "I didn't feel a thing, Cap'n!"

"That's because you're drunk," Archer judged, with great superiority.

"I'm not _under_ the table, Cap'n," Trip countered, laughing so hard he could barely be understood. "I'm on _top_ of it!" His hands appeared through the doorway, waving madly.

"You're really tall," Mila observed with admiration.

"I'm standin' on the conference table," Trip revealed with delight. "C'mon and join me!"

It seemed reasonable enough, so with little dexterity but a great deal of enthusiasm, Archer and Mila lowered themselves through the door in the floor. Trip was quite generous with his assistance of Mila, holding on to her tightly at many locations to make sure she didn't fall; the Captain received a far less solicitous welcome to the new room and nearly ended up flat on his face. Finally the two of them were standing on the conference table beside Trip, all silent for a moment. "It looks completely different from up here," Mila finally decided. The officers nodded their agreement. "Everything's... lower."

"Next time we have a conference," Trip stated brilliantly, "you should get up here and walk up and down the table talkin', Cap'n."

"You think?" Archer asked, seriously contemplating it.

"I'm tired," Mila announced to no one, plopping down on the tabletop.

"Oh yeah. The Andorians would be _soooooooooo_ impressed," Trip assured him."They wouldn't even care what the h—l you were sayin' with gazelles and stuff."

"Don't make fun of my gazelle speech, Trip," Archer told him petulantly. "That was a very special moment for me."

"Right, Cap'n, sorry, sir," Trip apologized, then rolled his eyes when Archer looked away to sit down beside Mila.

"Did you ever hear my gazelle speech?" Archer asked her leadingly.

" _Bridge to Captain Archer_."

"Oh my G-d!" Archer exclaimed. "It's T'Pol! She's on the Bridge!"

"Well that's where you left her, isn't it?" Trip asked reasonably. Seeing that he was the only person left standing and not finding that very appealing, Trip sprawled across the large table in a comfortable position.

"But how am I gonna answer?" Archer wondered, worriedly. "The button thingy's all the way over there!"

"Oh, I can do _that_ ," Mila assured him. "Just go ahead and speak."

Archer glanced at her hesitantly and replied, in what he hoped was a steady voice, "Archer... here." Trip snickered and Mila swatted at him. Archer signaled them both to be quiet.

" _Captain, internal sensors are reporting some unusual readings in your area_ ," T'Pol informed him coolly.

Archer looked alarmed. "In my _where_?" he sputtered. Trip cackled and Mila immediately tried to smother him.

T'Pol's voice was that of one whose eyebrow had climbed several millimeters. " _Captain, are you experiencing any unusual sensations or occurrences?_ "

"In your area," mouthed Trip, containing his hysterics only with many snorts and choking noises. Mila was little better.

Fearing T'Pol's wrath, Archer tried to make his voice sound as commanding as possible. "No." He felt he had imbued a wealth of nuance into the word.

There was a pause. Maybe T'Pol had forgotten about them? " _Sir, are Commander Tucker or Ms. Archelus with you?_ " D—n, she hadn't.

Well, it worked well once. "No," Archer assured her.

" _Internal sensors place the three of you in the conference room on E deck_ ," the Vulcan corrected smoothly.

D—n internal sensors! "Oh," Archer replied, speaking as carefully as he could, "yes, they _are_ here. I just didn't see them."

"Bwahahahahaha!" guffawed Trip, rolling around on the tabletop.

"Watch out for the edge!" Mila warned, but it was too late. Trip spilled off the table onto several of the chairs placed around it, then halfway to the floor.

He was still laughing as he dragged himself back up. "I'm okay," he assured them. "It's just a flesh wound!" He and Archer burst into fresh giggles— _Monty Python and the Holy Grail_ had been Trip's Movie Night choice a few weeks back.

Unfortunately Mila had missed that event. "I don't get it," she complained.

" _Captain_ ," T'Pol continued evenly, " _I am sending Security to your area_."

Trip had given up trying to contain himself, even as Archer protested, "No, no really, my... _area_ is completely secure." He leaned over to Mila and ordered in what he thought was a whisper, "Turn that thingy off now!" She nodded several times.

Trip was pounding his fist on the table, crying from laughing so hard. "You're gonna have Malcolm and his big ol' phase pistol all over your _area_ soon!" he snorted.

"T'Pol is going to be very upset," Archer agreed glumly. He swung his legs over the edge of the table and aimlessly kicked at a chair.

He looked very sad, and Mila wanted to cheer him up somehow. "I'm going to make you a pool, sir," she declared confidently. "So you and Trip can play water polo."

Archer appreciated the gesture. "That's nice of you, Mila. But where would we put a pool?"

"Right here," she decided.

"On the table?" asked Trip, still gasping for air a little.

Mila glared at him. "Nooooooooooo," she told him scornfully. "In the conference room!" The table was already beginning to vibrate a little, and the officers looked at each other with apprehension and gripped the smooth surface more firmly. Holes began appearing in the walls all around them, water gushing out onto the floor.

"Oh, G-d!" Archer exclaimed, hurriedly pulling his feet back up on the table, out of the way of the rapidly rising water.

"That is _so_ awesome," Trip breathed reverently.

"No, look, the—everything's getting all wet," Archer pointed out. T'Pol was _really_ going to be angry now. Vulcan-angry, that is. "It's getting on the table, it's getting on the table!" he added with panic, jumping to his feet as the water filled the room high enough to spill across the surface.

"That's easy to fix," Mila assured him. And the table disappeared.

All three shouted as they were plunged into the not-unpleasant, really quite temperate water, which was definitely deeper than the one meter or so that had previously existed between the table top and the floor. Yet somehow the water level was equal with the bottom of the door. "Where's the floor gone?" Archer demanded, spitting water out of his mouth as he surfaced.

Trip stared upwards, bobbing in Archer's wake. "Maybe it's on the ceiling." Mila was clinging to him. "Quit tryin' to dunk me!" he ordered, attempting to shove her off, which was not an easy thing in the water.

"I'm not!" she snapped. "I just can't swim!"

"You can't swim, and you just dropped us into a swimming pool," Archer surmised, dog-paddling around her. "That was _dumb_."

Trip chortled but gallantly allowed her to piggyback him, under the circumstances. "You _know_ how to swim," he insisted to her.

"No, I don't."

"Yes, you do."

"No, I don't."

"Mila," Archer said sharply. "Trip is your com-comma—your boss. He should _know_ if you know how to swim."

"Yeah," Trip agreed smugly. "You said you knew how to swim before, when we were in the river. On the planet. With the river. And the bear."

"What?" Archer asked, mystified, back-stroking by them.

"I forgot," Mila insisted defensively.

"You forgot how to swim?" Trip questioned, mind thoroughly mixed up at this point.

"No, I mean, I forgot I told you that," she clarified, fingernails digging into the wet fabric of his uniform as she hung on for dear life.

"Well, were you lying then, or are you lying now?" he demanded, picturing the _aha!_ moment in a detective movie.

"No," she shot back with great confidence. Trip tried to think of a suitable follow-up question. Archer circled them, intent on practicing his butterfly stroke while he had the opportunity.

It was at this moment Security reached them. The door, formerly to the conference room but now to the pool, sprang open and Lieutenant Reed stepped forward first—and nearly ended up joining his shipmates in the water, before T'Pol grabbed his shoulder firmly and yanked him back. "Bloody h—l," he murmured, gaping at the transformed room.

Even T'Pol had to admit this was not what she would have expected. _Ever_. "Captain," she called, her voice echoing over the waves, "are any of you injured?"

"No, we're fine," Archer assured her with a forced casualness. Perhaps he could convince her this wasn't as big a deal as it looked. "Are _you_ guys okay?"

"Woman, quit chokin' me!" Trip snapped from the other side of the pool. Trying to paddle around with Mila clutching him like a baby koala was no easy task.

"Our condition is not at issue, Captain," T'Pol informed him coldly. "Please convey yourself to the doorway so that we may assist you out of the water."

"Oh, sure, no problem," Archer agreed, propelling himself forward. As much as he appreciated the pool, his regular uniform just wasn't proper swimming attire. He decided he would humor T'Pol for a while, get her back into a good mood—Vulcan-good, that is—then change into something more appropriate and return to the pool later. There was no rush, after all huge swimming pools full of water didn't just appear and disappear in a matter of moments, right?

Reed, sensing that whatever danger was present would not be stopped by phase pistols, holstered his and knelt to help drag his Captain out of the pool, his Security team at his side. T'Pol stepped back, having no intention of touching a human, especially a wet, unusually erratic human, unless it were absolutely necessary. "We were just going for a little swim, you see," he tried to explain, scooting across the deck plating. "It's good, uh, exercise." T'Pol gave him a look that could have boiled the water in the pool. "I was gonna change!" he protested quickly.

"Commander Tucker," T'Pol trumpeted brusquely, ignoring Archer. "Present yourself at the doorway immediately."

Reluctantly Trip started to paddle towards her. "Do Vulcans swim?" Mila asked curiously.

"Vulcan is a desert planet," Trip informed her, in what was obviously supposed to be his T'Pol imitation. You could tell from the way one eyebrow was squashed down and the other was scrunched up high. Archer and Mila found it hilarious.

"I think they're drunk, Commander," Reed ventured, as Trip and Mila flopped up into the hallway, spilling water across the deck plating. T'Pol maneuvered deftly to avoid it.

"Mr. Reed!" Archer suddenly said sharply, and Malcolm instinctively jerked to attention, eyes up, back straight.

"Yes, sir!" he barked.

Archer dissolved into a fit of giggles. "I just like doing that!" he confessed. Trip and Mila doubled over with laughter.

"They are _definitely_ drunk," Reed repeated sourly, eyes narrowing at them distastefully.

T'Pol's lips were pursed so tightly it was a wonder she could speak. "We shall escort them to Sickbay," she determined. "Perhaps Dr. Phlox will be able to—remedy the situation."

Reed decided they didn't need anyone else taking an unexpected dip tonight."Bortrecht," he told one of his men, "stay here and guard the—" He paused awkwardly. "—the door."

"Yeah, make sure it doesn't go anywhere!" Trip advised urgently.

"Absolutely," Archer seconded. "Doors just come and go around here like you wouldn't believe!"

"Sickbay, please, Captain," T'Pol prompted them shortly.

As the group of them lurched along the deck, three wet uniforms making unpleasant squelching sounds and leaving damp trails behind them, Archer and Trip tried to explain Mila's amazing magical mystical power to make useful things like doorways and swimming pools. Reed let out the occasional terse, "Yes, sir," when prodded; T'Pol remained frostily silent.

Mila herself wasn't saying too much, her concentration apparently devoted to staying upright and moving forward. "I'm tired," she repeated, cracking a huge yawn that caused her to stop in her tracks momentarily.

"If you are unable to walk on your own," T'Pol began, with just a touch of impatience, "perhaps someone could assist you."

"Excellent, excellent idea, T'Pol," Archer enthused. "As Captain, I will take it upon myself. Trip," he added resolutely, facing the engineer, "help Mila."

"Aw, sir!" Trip whined, but Archer had already turned away and started a conversation with Malcolm about doorways, pointedly ignoring Trip while glancing repeatedly back to make sure Trip _knew_ he was being ignored. "Fine," he sighed, much put-upon. "C'mere."

"Commander, I was not suggesting that—" T'Pol began, but before she could protest further, Mila was firmly positioned on Trip's back, arms and legs twined around him like a persistent vine.

"G-d, you weigh _tons_ more than you did in the pool," Trip observed tactlessly. "What've you been eating since then?" Mila muttered something sleepy and incomprehensible and rude.

Deciding a rearrangement of the transportation conditions would only prolong the situation, T'Pol encouraged them all to keep moving. She chided herself for not ordering that the hallways be cleared in advance of their travel, more so when Trip called out a hearty hello to a crewman who otherwise would have passed by without noticing them. Instead the man was reduced to a silent, open-mouthed stare as he witnessed the parade of officers, some wet and visibly intoxicated, and one carrying someone on his back.

"As you were, Ensign," T'Pol snipped, breaking the spell, and the man scurried off. "Obviously this matter will require some... discretion," she remarked subtly to Lt. Reed.

"And possibly therapy," he added darkly, as Archer looped an arm around the Tactical Officer's shoulders and attempted to lead him in song. This was _not_ the way one was supposed to see one's commanding officers. "Commander, do you think there's _any_ chance that they've contracted some previously unknown, horrible, possibly fatal alien disease, as opposed to just being completely... _steampigged_?" He flicked away Archer's hand as the Captain insisted upon jovially tousling Malcolm's hair. Reed feared that next the Captain would revert to football-buddy mode and try to swat his bum.

"There is _always_ the possibility, Lieutenant," T'Pol replied grimly, over Trip's loud and off-key duet with Archer. It sounded like some kind of school song, though they both got so many words wrong it was difficult to be sure.

"Well personally I think I would have just gone for a hot tub, instead of a whole swimming pool," Malcolm remarked idly, grabbing Archer's arm to keep him from wandering off their set path.

"I can do hot tubs!" Mila suddenly piped up. The floor opened up almost right beneath Reed's feet, sending him jumping back as the metal melted into a large basin that rapidly filled with steaming water.

The singing ceased as everyone stared at the improbable and ill-placed new amenity on _Enterprise_. "Bloody h—l," Malcolm repeated.

" _That_ ," Archer began in a tone of pleased awe, "is really... _wet_."

"Lieutenant, please refrain from giving Ms. Archelus any further suggestions," T'Pol ordered tightly.

"I want a pony," Trip declared suddenly, great hope evident in his voice.

"What's a pony?" Mila mumbled.

"It's like a horse," Trip explained helpfully, "only smaller, and prettier."

"Prettier?" snorted Malcolm, looking back at his inebriated friend.

"There is nothing wrong with a pretty pony," Trip assured him with immense dignity, adjusting Mila's position on his back and tactfully ignoring the squishy wet sounds of their uniforms. "My granny promised me we would get to see the ponies at the county fair, but the day we were supposed to go she decided it was too hot. And then," he added, becoming slightly choked up, but not because Mila was doing anything to him this time, "when we finally got to go, the ponies were all... _gone_." He sniffed, trying to disguise it with a patently fake sneeze. "Uh, sorry, must have caught a cold there in the water."

"Oh, Trip," Archer sighed, looking at him sorrowfully. "That was a sad story."

"Oh, G-d," muttered Reed, herding them along.

"You are _so_ brave," Archer continued, reaching back to pat Trip awkwardly on the shoulder. His aim was off and he ended up almost swiping T'Pol instead. "Why didn't you ever _tell_ me this? It explains so much I didn't understand..."

"Well, it's—it's personal," Trip tried to explain, wiping his moist eyes surreptitiously.

"Thank you for sharing it with us," the Captain told him sincerely.

Trip tried to shrug his courage off modestly. "So, do I get my pony?" he asked Mila eagerly.

"I promise, I shall make you a pony," she declared grandly, trying to raise herself up on his back and ending up almost knocking them both over. "As soon as I figure out what one is."

"We're almost at Sickbay," T'Pol cut in, sounding the tiniest bit relieved. She did not want to witness what Mila might be able to come up with in response to Trip's request.

The five of them stumbled through the Sickbay doors. Phlox greeted them cheerfully as always. "And, ah, what seems to be the trouble?" he asked, already glancing over the wet uniforms and unusual placement of Mila.

Archer opened his mouth to speak, held it there for several seconds as everyone stared at him, then admitted, "I can't remember."

Trip snickered gleefully. "Back to the pool!" he proclaimed, and he and Archer started to turn around. "If Mila rustles us up a couple ponies, we could play water polo!" The two of them laughed hysterically at the brilliant joke but stopped abruptly when T'Pol and Reed blocked their path out, resolute in their immobility.

"I don't feel good," Mila mumbled suddenly, hands patting Trip's face in an attempt to get his attention, in case he'd forgotten about her on his back.

"Uh, here, Commander," Phlox began, guiding Trip backwards toward a biobed. "Let's just set her down here, shall we?"

"Gee, Doc, is she gonna be okay?" Trip asked worriedly, staring at the panel above Mila's bed. It contained no information he was capable of understanding at the moment, but concern radiated from every pore. Malcolm feared he might actually start crying (again). "'Cause I _really_ want my pony."

"You're not getting a pony, Trip," Archer snapped at him. As Captain, it was often his unpleasant job to be the bearer of bad news, after all.

"You got a pool!" Trip protested, feeling betrayed. "Malcolm got a hot tub! What do _I_ get?"

"Be practical," Archer insisted. "What would it wear? Hmm? Answer me that!"

Trip seemed thoroughly stumped by this question. T'Pol took advantage of the momentary silence. "Doctor, we believe the Captain, Commander Tucker, and Ms. Archelus may be... intoxicated."

"Oh, yes indeed," Phlox agreed happily. "Three sheets to the wind. Four to the floor. Plastered, legless, and monkey-full." Reed and T'Pol stared at him. "I've been brushing up on my human euphemisms," he explained pleasantly. "Unfortunately the only true remedy for intoxication is still a good night's sleep. I would be happy to keep them here in Sickbay, for observation," Phlox added, seeing something akin to panic flirt with crossing T'Pol's face at the prospect of escorting the group back to their quarters.

"I believe that would be the best course of action," the First Officer readily agreed.

 

"Oh, G-d," groaned Archer, sitting on the edge of the biobed, gripping its edges as if they might keep him from toppling into the abyss. The abyss of nausea and pain, that is.

"I feel terrible," Trip remarked in a flat voice, having not summoned the willpower to sit up yet.

"There's a reason Venkii women don't drink," Mila pointed out, arm dangling listlessly from the bed.

"Um... because you _s—k_ at it?" Trip guessed, rubbing his aching head.

"I don't remember _s—king_ at anything," Mila shot back haughtily, if groggily.

"Which is always a plus when you wake up like this," Trip observed knowingly.

"Don't—let's not— _talk_ anymore, okay?" Archer suggested, as every syllable drilled straight into his brain.

They all complained, loudly, when Phlox jaunted into the room, seemingly flipping every light on that he possessed. "Good morning, everyone!"

"Stop—no—bad," moaned Trip, rolling over onto his stomach to stick his head beneath the pillow.

"Just—anything you can give us, Doctor." Archer was dangerously close to begging.

"Well, I don't know, Captain," Phlox began in a chiding tone. "Perhaps the unpleasantness of your hangover, as you humans term it, will remind you to be more moderate in your alcohol consumption in the future."

A muffled noise emanated from beneath Trip's pillow. Archer thought it might be his Chief Engineer crying. The idea elicited little sympathy as vague memories of whining about a pony surfacing from the night before. "Noted, Doctor," he commented, in the most captainly voice he could muster, "but I must insist. I should get to the Bridge"—after showering, shaving, but definitely not breakfasting—"and Mila needs to fix the, uh... whatever from last night." Unless of course those images of swimming pools in the conference room and hot tubs in the hallway were just vivid hallucinations. "Perhaps Trip could suffer for all of us," he added meanly.

"No, no, no, no!" Trip protested, sitting up and immediately wishing he hadn't. "Captain, I need to help with all those repairs from all the—changes—plumbing—water damage," he sputtered desperately.

"Well," Archer finally decided magnanimously, "in that case..." He looked expectantly at Phlox, who merely rolled his eyes and began distributing the hyposprays.


End file.
